


And Scene

by Dirtcore Dreams (NakedEye)



Series: Upon Request [11]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Camboy Derek Hale, Come Eating, Come Shot, Exhibitionism, Hurt/Comfort, Masturbation, Mildly Dubious Consent, Other, Porn Video, Public Masturbation, References to Abuse, References to Depression, Self-Acceptance, Self-Esteem Issues, Self-Hatred, Sex Work, Voyeurism, porn audition, sex positivity, sexual healing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-02
Updated: 2019-01-02
Packaged: 2019-10-02 15:45:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,236
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17266901
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NakedEye/pseuds/Dirtcore%20Dreams
Summary: It's expensive living in New York and Derek can't hold down a job to make rent. But he's refuses to let Laura down again. He knows his best tool is his body and even though his relationship with it is still shaky, he signs himself up to audition for porn. His first shoot is a solo and he has to work out his issues before he ruins his shot at scoring a contract.





	And Scene

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was created as a gift for a friend over on ko-fi. 
> 
> There's no explicit references to Derek's canon sex abuse, but this fic deals with him coming to terms with it and learning to love himself again. It's overall happy and positive, but if you find that kind of content triggering, please be careful with yourself.

Derek’s relationship with his own body was… complicated. He was always taught as a bitten wolf that it was never something to fear or to hate. The shift could be frightening, overwhelming even, but it was a natural thing and it was a gift. He believed that, with his whole heart. Even after everything that happened, even knowing that part of what contributed to the ordeal was his naive take on those ideals.

But just believing in it, didn’t mean it came without caveats, without moments of doubt or defiance. His body could be dangerous, in more ways than just his fangs or claws. He’d put off addressing it for a while, was too tender to take up the conversation he knew he needed to have. He and Laura had more important things to worry about for a time, but now there was a singular issue that deserved his full attention, that affected them both.

Rent in a place like New York was fickle. Hard to find reasonable, harder to keep. Derek had tried all the ways he could think of to help legitimately, to contribute in a way that anyone else would. He cleaned dishes and floors. He flipped burgers and bussed tables. He even found a coveted place on a construction crew for a time. But he was young, didn’t have connections here, and there were a lot of people that wanted those jobs.

He could never keep hold of them for long, always slipping between his fingers as a family friend came home and needed a break, or the project ended, or the dive closed. And though their rent often fluctuated, that was only ever in amount, not consistency. It would come at the start of every month, whether he’d found a suitable replacement or not. And he was tired of Laura having to shoulder the burden for every inadequacy he expressed.

It came back to his body. Derek knew he was good with it. He knew people wanted it. It wasn’t cockiness, it was just the fine observation that being a wolf afforded you. Derek could hear heart beats quicken. He could smell the warm scent of arousal. He felt every minute fluttering of muscle as eyes rolled back and involuntary moans floated from the mouths of people he fucked. He hadn’t stopped doing it, couldn’t.

He was a wild creature that respected his instincts and he was young and virile. His wolf __loved__ to breed and Derek amply fed the beast that he clung to for comfort. It was easy to find someone interested, and second nature to drive them to the very furthest reaches of their pleasure. He had stamina enough to explore them first and then enact his discoveries. He could fine tune his fucking with the precision of someone incredibly practiced.

People around him could mix colors to exact shades. They could feel the way temperature affected their dough. They knew which hours held the perfect sort of light and just how far they could push a machine. Derek’s talent, his instrument, was his body. He’d not wanted to make it his work. They say your relationship to something you love changes when you turn it to profession. He hadn’t even settled where he was at with this part of him yet.

But his loyalty, his sense of duty won out, and so he found himself at the edge of a casting couch. The room was mostly empty. The men behind the cameras found their work blase enough to be picking at their nails and smoking. The disinfectant they had used to try and clean out every trace of prior semen irritated his nose and atop that was unsuccessful. To anyone else the room would seem fine, but Derek could practically taste the sex on the sheets that covered this cheap furniture.

He wasn’t even their first audition today. They gave him a few notes after taking his measurements, gave him a cursory coaching and then hit record. He could see the red light blinking, felt hot beneath the ring lights. He’d wanted to perform with someone first, knew he could sell himself so much better if he had a medium outside himself to work with. He could get lost in someone else’s body so simply, took them apart like a puzzle placed before him.

They wanted solo work first. They wanted to see if he could play with the camera, the audience, not just a partner. They needed to know if he could control when he would come, if he already knew how to position himself for shots, if his dick would flag under attention. It was just good business practices, they couldn’t know what they had pushed him into.

To nail this audition, to help Laura, was to come to terms with himself before he felt entirely ready, and on camera. They would feel if he was passionless, if he simply pressed the buttons to make his nerves react as though he were trying to jump a rusty car. Derek had had sex since Beacon Hills. He hadn’t masturbated. He’d barely looked in a mirror. He just… reacted.

It took a moment to steel himself, a moment where he started losing them. A camera man took his hands off his tripod to check a text. The director was taking frustrated notes. Someone behind the lights tapped their foot in impatience.

At first it felt like nails scraping on chalkboard, but Derek licked his lips… and dove in. He took his shirt off first, little crescents of nervous sweat beneath his pits. It made the skin shine when he lifted them to flex a little for the camera, rub the soreness out of the muscles from his last job. He took his time to really gaze at his own body, at the tool that he took comfort in, but he felt betrayed by.

His skin had paled a little-- the sun here wasn’t as direct as California-- his hair was thicker, his scent was less sour, less like a boy and more like a man. His chest took well to attention. It swelled faster than any other part of him. It took little work at the weights to get it large enough to bounce when he moved, to make his nipples pop and feel so much tighter, more sensitive. He played with them just a little, just enough to make his stomach quiver and the camera linger on the first twitch of his cock.

Beneath the denim, the audience couldn’t see yet. They didn’t know he’d stopped shaving his bush, that his balls were uneven, or that he got his audition off the girth of his cock. Right now it was just a tease to them, a reminder to Derek he still had further to go. His dick didn’t fill him with pride for his strength, it wasn’t sized based off his own hard work, he couldn’t control that at his will or share it non sexually. The heft of it didn’t make him feel safe, like he could address any threat that might have followed them here.

When Derek stroked his fuzzy abs, when he bunched his pecs to make cleavage, when he kissed his own biceps and winked at the camera, he took pleasure in the state of them. His wolf howled with confidence. __I am a boy no longer. Let them come for me again. I can tear them to pieces. I can protect my home, my family. I am not vulnerable.__

But he couldn’t stay there forever. The director played with his bulge over his briefs, chuckled at the camera and stuck out his tongue. He told Derek not to poke any eyes out with that, made him do slow spins and sit, splayed out, thighs wide. Derek’s chest was heaving and he felt light headed, but he let himself start slow.

He pushed his waistband so his bush hung obscenely over it. He liked the hair. It felt more like fur. It tricked his mind and said maybe he’d shift just that much faster if he was halfway to a coat already. It came in just as thick on his legs, and he played with it as his breath stuttered when he moved to his inner thigh. The flesh there was so soft, the skin so thin. It was vulnerable. He was vulnerable. The concentration of nerves made his flesh jump when he ran fingers oh-so-lightly over it.

Derek licked his lips again as he looked at the camera, teased them for just a moment as he played with the leg hole of his briefs, flashed his balls, fiddled with the y front. Wolves aren’t just feral animals. They aren’t just predators. They are loyal, loving, playful, pretty. Derek did a disservice to himself if he expected only strength, only used his gift to fight.

He closed his eyes as he fished himself out, let his head fall back on the arm of the couch, breathed deep as he stroked. His spare hand rested on his chest, gripped tightly at himself to feel his heart hammering, squeezed to get it to calm. Precum dripped from his foreskin and ran down his knuckles, started to make the slide of his skin sticky, lewd.

He whimpered, a little, brows drawing together, thighs coming together until the director pushed them open again. It had been so long. He could actually remember the last night. His old room always used to smell of dirt and sweat and silly young boy. His sheets were navy blue and so soft. Not silky, not luxuriant, but that worn in sort of soft that came from something you’d had for forever.

Derek had been wrestling with one of his close friends that day. They’d laughed and rubbed up against each other and he had these freckles that Derek couldn’t stop looking at. He didn’t even know he could also like boys this way until the very second he got hard. They didn’t talk about it, or even do anything with it, just finished their grapple and then moved on to other things.

Derek forgot about it for the rest of the day until he was just starting to doze off. The soft sheets felt good on his dick. He could smell old leavings on his bedding and it comforted him as much as it made him stir. He was in his den. He was safe. It felt good and right and easy to recall the memory from earlier. His friend was a total goof ball, made Derek grip his sides laughing. He had this mischievous, little smile that only rambunctious boys got, one that usually said they had a cherry bomb in their pocket or a bug in their locker.

He felt bubbly with the possibilities of this discovery. Liking girls __and__ liking boys? He could be with anyone, he could love anyone! It felt like the world bloomed before him. He grinned dopily and buried his face in his pillow as he humped into his hand, sheets pooling on his lower back, then sliding over his ass. He smothered his moans so he wouldn’t wake anyone up, experimented with calling his friend’s name as he thrust, as his dick drooled and his balls started to draw up.

He’d fallen asleep not even a minute after he finished, in a puddle of it, so dumb and comfortable. He didn’t have any worries. He lived with wolves, his family always knew when he masturbated, so why get out of the warmth of his bed to clean it up? He’d have to shower in the morning anyway.

Derek cried a little. He cried for that boy that was never going to be what he could have. He cried for himself, fearing this. He cried from the sheer relief of taking pleasure in himself, for himself again. He pushed his fingers into that bundle of nerves behind his balls, squeezed the sack as he started to shoot, milking it for all he was worth. He cried out, high pitched and needy, and breathlessly grinned when he shot the underside of his chin, spackled it into his mouth.

He tasted good. Warm and thick and salty. He felt good. Loose and tired and kinda high. He licked his lips, opened his eyes, lolled his head to the camera. “Fuck… I’d been holding that in for a while.”

The cameramen and the director laughed, jovial, chummy. Derek could feel their sunniness bouncing off of his, felt the lightness and joy in the room. He was good with his body. “Been a little frustrated there, big guy? We’ve all had a case of the blue balls before.”

Derek chuckled as he shook his head, looked down at the mess on his body hair, flicked his softening cock back and forth. “Something like that.” They handed him a cloth, let him amble to the restroom to wash and take a piss. They bought his audition tape, presented him with a contract for three more scenes if he wanted.

It took some working, but he negotiated for the ability to pick his partners, and left there with enough money to make their rent for the month. Derek wasn’t “fixed” yet, but he’d started the conversation with himself, scheduled more sessions to dive a little deeper. For the first time in a long time, he took an easy breath.  

**Author's Note:**

> If you like this kind of content or just my writing, come on and hang out with me over on twitter @DirtcoreD There's lots of community interaction there. You can vote on what I write next, catch new content early, and get involved in lots of inane conversations. :P


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